Mud and Kittens
by allismine
Summary: Snapshot in the life of a possible tenth class. Experimental female OC, mild language, see author's notes for details.


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Chapter One: Mud and Kittens

**Disclaimer:** _"Team Fortress 2", and all canon characters and characteristics remain the property and rights of Valve Corporation. All I own is the writing itself, and any original features and / or attributes portrayed within said writing, including the original character._

**A/N:** Holy crap, another OC?! What can I say--it's what I do. :D This is the prologue for a TF2 fanfic I've completed off-site. The story is originally in the second-person, as asked for by the original requester, but the first chapter has been reworked to fit FF dawt net guidelines so that it may be posted here. This entry is basically here for personal archival purposes so that I can keep proper track of my stuff--if you happened to be interested in reading the rest of it, the full story can be accessed from my profile. I will not be posting anything more to update this story on this site due to the content's blatant teal deer and NSFWishnessocity, hence why it's marked as 'Completed'. Feel free to return here and leave a review for the series though, if you wanna!

**Also: **I received an Anonymous review saying I stole this story from a user named FiveTail. Just to let you guys know, if this fic seems familiar, it's because FiveTail is an alternate username I use across the interwebs. We are, indeed, the same person. Thanks for looking out for me, though, Anon--I really do appreciate it!

I--I

_Clunk, clunk, clunk._

"Are you TIRED, recruit?"

"Sir, no sir!"

_Clunk, clunk, clunk._

"Are you ABOUT to give UP on me??"

"Sir, no sir!"

_Clunk, clunk, clunk._

"Bet you're wishing you were back home knitting cozies for your teacups, AREN'T you, MAGGOT?!"

"SIR, NO SIR!" she shouted for the umpteenth time, feeling the rawness burn in her throat.

With Soldier's guidance, the new recruit had been performing endurance drills for the past several hours, training to increase her speed to a more acceptable percentage while slugging around her considerably heavy backpack. She was used to these conditions, for she had been practicing under them alongside Soldier for the past six days; it decided to rain this morning, though, making the track muddy and much harder to maneuver than normal. At this point, she felt no better than a pack mule.

"Sir! Permission to speak, sir!"

"Granted!"

Blinded by darkness, she moved to push her black sweatband back up around her forehead. "Sir, do you think it would be more effective if I trained carrying real ammunition instead of using these weights, sir?"

"Are you QUESTIONING my METHODS, recruit?!"

The sharpness in his voice sent shivers down her spine. "Sir, I'm sorry, sir! Sir, I was just curious, SIR!"

"We all know what happened to the CAT who got curious, don't we? Good ol' curiosity BLUDGEONED it with a CROWBAR until it was KITTEN PASTE! Do you WANT to be bludgeoned with a crowbar?"

"Sir, no sir!"

"Are you KITTEN PASTE, maggot?!"

"SIR, NO SIR!"

Soldier dashed ahead of her and started running backwards; she was unclear on whether or not the mocking inference of his actions was supposed to be intentional.

"We don't know what time of day those BLU scum will infiltrate our base!" he barked. "We must ALWAYS be prepared! We must ALWAYS have ammo! We CANNOT risk having resources in your possession unless you are ON the BATTLEFIELD! DO you understand?!"

"Sir, yes sir! Forgive the stupid question, sir! Sir, I am not kitten paste, SIR!"

With that, she redirected her vision to the front of her, running even harder. The thought of being on the battlefield made an anxious lump swell in her throat. Tomorrow would be her first day at war, and her first day interacting with the others. She couldn't afford to leave them with a bad impression.

The extent of her introduction to the rest of the team was limited to a memo on the corkboard and a good twenty words via Administrator over the intercom. She was given written directions to her sleeping quarters upon her arrival, and because she turned up during the dark hours of ceasefire, hadn't encountered anyone else along the way.

05:00 hours the following morning, Soldier kicked her door open and threw a custom flak jacket, a red shirt, and a pair of sweatpants at her head, before ordering her to meet him outside in ten minutes.

Still, because he was her appointed supervisor and the only one who knew her actual gender, she appreciated Soldier's unforgiving attitude. Even though she was female, even though she was noticeably shorter than her fellow team members, and even though her very presence as a fourth Support class upset the delicate balance of the front lines, the last thing she wanted was to be singled out or given any kind of special treatment. She took care in maintaining this philosophy, as could be seen with the extents she went through to conceal herself. She packed nothing but masculine clothing, she practiced speaking in a slightly deepened voice without sounding comical, and she used rolls of ace bandages to flatten her (already hardly noticeable) chest. She even got her hair cut to a short, albeit ruffled, unisex style--her mother was already panicking about her enlistment, and she figured there was no need to upset the poor woman further by buzzing it down any shorter than necessary.

The assigned gear helped as well. Along with the baggy outfit Soldier set on a collision course with her face, she was also required to wear a gigantic red backpack, as her designated specialty was delivering and dropping ammunition to her teammates on the field--in combination, the getup made her look smaller than she really was, and she hoped the others wouldn't pay too much personal mind to her presence.

Suddenly, the young woman tripped over herself while jogging, falling face-first into a particularly nasty puddle--the thick globs of soaked dirt felt wet and mushy beneath her hands and chest and tasted like absolute crap. The blunder sent Soldier into a tirade of insults about how she wouldn't be of use to anyone on the ground, about how if this were real war she would have already been killed, about how in the time it would take for her to respawn and get back out there her comrades would already be dead because they ran out of the ammo she, the maggot, was supposed to provide. She was mentally exhausted, physically worn, and spiritually spent--her first instinct, however brief, was to cry.

Yet, she was a part of the team, and that was exactly how she wanted to be respected as.

She dug her fingers even deeper into the mud and pushed herself up, swallowing the tears with the skill of long practice and setting herself back on the run. She had to prove herself worthy of this position by any means necessary, for her effectiveness would determine the future structure of the Reliable Excavation Demolition military force. Her participation in battle was a trial run for an entirely new class of soldier: The Auxiliary.

Part of the team. One of the guys. No special treatment.

She was NOT kitten paste.

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End file.
